


A Rose's Petal

by mayumint



Category: Ib (Video Game), 第五人格 | Identity V (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Cameos, Crossover, Gen, M/M, POV First Person, fanon gertrude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayumint/pseuds/mayumint
Summary: the title is just a placeholder because man i just wanna get this out as soon as i canA cheap ticket to a well-known art exhibition; hey, it's your favorite artists' too! Just which idiot will turn down this opportunity. I mean, what could go wrong?[This story will follow Ib's ending; "Together, Forever" with some modifications]
Relationships: Aesop Carl | Embalmer/Eli Clark | Seer, Aesop Carl | Embalmer/Naib Subedar | Mercenary
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	A Rose's Petal

**Author's Note:**

> First ever serious fanfic I made. Yaaaay. Don't expect anything. Including in-character-ness. This is not so ship-based. The OC in the tag is actually Gertrude, there's no real OC here lol. Anyways, It's fine if you haven't or never played Ib before, well, it doesn't really matter, to begin with. You don't need to understand Ib's lore to understand this fic's.
> 
> edit 1 - 27/03/20

** **

**≿** **—————————-** ** ❈ ** **—————————-** **≾**

Slowly, I pushed the door of this grand exhibition; the Desaulniers’ Art Exhibition & Gallery. I thoroughly (re-)checked the receipt I got on my emails, making sure that everything was correct before showing it to the receptionist. To this day, I can’t believe I got the ticket on my hands. Lady luck was on my side that day, knowing that I somewhy (_and_ unknowingly) checked the exhibition’s website that day—when they’re holding a one-day discount for the exhibition ticket. I’ve always wanted to go here, but work (and the sky-high ticket prices) has never let me to. Thank God for that luck of mine on the said day, if I missed on that discount I would’ve probably missed the chance of going to this exhibition forever.

I’ve been a fan of Joseph Desaulniers’ works of art for a very long time. I wasn’t really a big fan of photography, to be honest, I like paintings more. However, Joseph’s works are a whole different story. Each one of Joseph’s photography felt as if it was _alive_. It’s as if their souls were captured and reserved carefully inside the pictures. As an artist (and an _embalmer_) myself, this method of Joseph’s has certainly captured my attention.

I can never get bored inspecting Joseph’s handiworks piece by piece; it’s not like I own one—or more myself, heck, I couldn’t even afford the ticket to his exhibition as I mentioned. I was just lucky to get the limited offer they put out on their website. I don’t even know why they’re doing the promotion since as far as I know they’re actually doing pretty fine in terms of the ticket sales. But, what I know is I’m glad they did it since now I’m able to actually go and see Joseph’s pieces live.

“Ah, you’re one of the people that noticed the discount, we just decided to put it out without any announcements, ‘congrats there, you’re lucky!” I think I am very lucky indeed, to be opening the website for literally no reason that time—Okay, I’m not going to hide it anymore, I was hoping for some kind of discount and I apparently got what I wanted, I suppose. The receptionist gave me a nonchalant smile as she hands me my phone back after she matched the receipt with the information displayed on the desktop before her. I vocalized a small thank you to her (hey, it’s better than nothing!) before taking back my precious phone from her hands. I don’t like others touching my phone at all, like how I don’t like strangers knowing my name, it just feels like my weakness is wide open for everyone to see, but I also don’t want to recite all the numbers and the stuff on the receipt just because the receptionist has some kind of hearing problem (because apparently, she can’t hear some things in this case) which is very annoying, so I let her see the e-mail for herself. Is she using airpods? I even rose my voice up, I’m pretty sure anyone would hear that. I made a small note on my phone to put this into the critique & suggestions box later on.

Joseph’s works are really amazing (look, I said it again). Each photograph displayed here is very well-taken and splendid. It felt like a dream to actually get to see his works first-hand. Oh, and I am actually very grateful over the fact that there weren’t many visitors today. That’s less human-social-interaction for me. In my opinion, the dead are _way_ better than the living. They’re _dead_, they won’t annoy you or hurt you at all, because they’re _dead_, and they will stay that way. Instead of talking to living people, I’d rather stay cooped up at my office embalming dead people rather than go outside and interact with others (_cough, the living_) like a normal; functioning human being. Besides, staying at home to embalm people earns me money, while socializing just earns me nothing but fatigue.

.

.

..If I’m truly allowed to speak my mind, I think, I think I don’t feel that way. Life is so beautiful, yet it holds so many mysteries. It’s such a shame my dearest mentor and father, Jerry Carl felt that way–or so he taught me. It’s fascinating watching life come and go, all their memory once hold dear kept tucked in their cold, motionless body. I feel sorry for defying what my father has once taught me... Is this okay? Maybe it’s too late after all.

“The Lady in Red, isn’t it? Some said that this is actually his lover, but he has denied this claim. In truth, it was actually his beloved cousin—which is now dead, Mary.”

_Ahem,_ I guess we’re back into the showcase.

A young woman, porcelain-pale skin, symmetrical face, waist-length light brown hair, and bright amber eyes; fixated at the painting before her. I wonder where’d she get this information, I mean, she could be lying too if she’s into that. I’m also going to mention that she’s very beautiful, and I am being honest right now. Especially that perfect-porcelain-pale skin, it looks exactly like a dead person’s, I think it’s because of some kind of illness she may be suffering from. I mean, there’s no way she’d be dead, right? That’s just my assumption though.

“If you ask me just how the hell did I know that, I am an acquaintance of Joseph’s,”

—she said with a low-key bragging tone. How irritating. I didn’t respond to her statement, instead, I blankly stared at the framed photograph before us. Well, at least I’m learning something from an _acquaintance _(she said) of Joseph himself. I wonder if she’s being truthful or not, but I figured she just wanted to flex on the fact that she was an acquaintance of Joseph’s. Oh, and the annoying flexy tone she was talking in kind of put me off. If annoying people like this don’t exist, I think I would actually go out there and engage with more people.

“Not quite the talkative one, aren’t you? Well, I can show and tell you more about Joseph’s works for you if you want, I really admire him and his works and I just wanted to spread more about it, you know?”

She gave me a small smile. She looks pretty harmless, but I know I better be careful because she could be dangerous and unpredictable no matter how kind they seem to be. I kept myself quiet and thought for a bit more, “_If I __follow her, I could have a chance of being stuck in a series of awkward small talk__—__but I also want to know about Joseph’s works more. She seems like she knows a lot,_”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to. _<strike>Boo, shame on you though</strike>_. Well, I thought you might be interested in knowing more about Joseph’s creations. Your eyes are literally sparkling as you look at his photos. I’ll be around here if you want to stroll around with me,”

_“First of all, my eyes weren’t sparkling, I was just excited, no need to point it out too. I know I look stupid but it’s my first time here,” _is what I wanted to reply, but I learned there’s no need on sending her this unnecessarily aggressive response since she didn’t actually do anything wrong. She looks like the type that doesn’t really care about other’s feelings much—the ones who blatantly point out things of other people without considering whether it would hurt their feelings or not. I decided to join her in, however. I wish to learn more about Joseph’s works and this woman seems like she knows a lot.

“Okay but, my eyes weren’t sparkling. Maybe I _was_ excited but you don’t really need to point that out too,”

I said it anyway, but hey I actually modified the sentence by a little to sound less rude. The woman gave me a light laugh in response, saying,

“Oh hey, you responded to me. I thought you’re going to ignore me like the others. Please excuse me, I rarely go outside to see others and this is my first time in a couple of years. Alright then, I won’t point it out anymore or whatever you say, it’s just quite amusing to see. Let’s go then, Mr?”

This woman is tiresome. Did she just pointed out the fact that I was _oh-so_-_excited_ on being here—fine, maybe I did say it was kind of like a dream to be here but scratch that. Looking at her sentence beforehand, I feel pity for her, _if _that turns out to be true. Being locked up inside what I assume (due to her pale-ness and overall voice, body language, et cetera) is a hospital for years must be quite tedious.

“Carl. Aesop Carl.”

Maybe I could _try_ to trust her a little bit with this. Besides, she appears to be younger than me, she looks around nineteen to twenty. I got that assumption over the fact that she addressed me by “mister”, maybe she just wanted to be polite, I don’t know. Oh, and her relation to Joseph could even be Joseph’s younger relative and she’s lying about being his _acquaintance_. But let’s see how wrong could this possibly go.

**≿** **—————————-** ** ❈ ** **—————————-** **≾**

“—and that is it for Spectacle of Century’s end, and the second floor. Is there anything else you might want to know?”

This woman sure has a lot of stamina. We’ve been around for _at least_ thirty minutes. She doesn’t look tired at all, enthusiasm seems to sparkle in her eyes every time she explained a photograph. I thought she was supposed to be sick? I’m getting tired of walking and listening to her seem-to-be-endless ramblings, I mean, I was the one who agreed to go and follow her around in the first place so I can’t really complain. I learned that she’s very energetic and is probably a bigger fan of Joseph than I am, and I could tell that she went here a lot of times, so she’s either rich as hell or really has some kind of relation to Joseph—which gives her easy access to free tickets.

“Mr. Carl?”

Oh, yeah. She asked me if I wanted to know about something specific. The info she gave me this far is interesting. I think we’ve seen each piece showcased, there’s no need to be here anymore. But I think there’s a room with a grand painting or photograph in it, and we have yet to check it out,

“Ah, yeah, I think we missed a room right here, I remember seeing an area with that big, golden-framed photograph, or was it a painting? It looks too big to be a photograph.”

“Oh, that one. I see. Do you really want to see that? Are you sure? _Once you go in, there’s no going back. All your time here will be lost. Will you still jump in_?”

What’s with that menacing quote? And jump? Are we going to jump inside the painting? How is that possible? What the hell is she talking about? This person is pretty weird sometimes. She says some ridiculous things; like the warning she just gave me earlier. However, it still gives me a fair amount of anxiety, despite most of me still saying it’s nothing but a silly bluff the woman put out. However, I think the cause is how the woman talked (more like _threatening_)—she talked with a deep; intimidating tone that sounds almost as if she was being serious with that silly remark.

“What? Of course, I want to see that. I _paid_ to see _all_ of the things in this gallery,”

“I will happily guide you there then. It is actually one of my favorite pieces by Joseph, ever. I think you’re going to like it too.”

If you like it so much _and_ you think I would too, why did you try to stop me, or someone else from seeing it?

“Well, then. We’ll see about that.”

The golden-framed painting displayed itself in its glory before us. It is very beautiful and grand. One thing I don’t really understand is the concept and the title of the painting; “Fabricated World”, it reads. However, I do know that it is very detailed and that really astonished me. I wonder why this piece hasn’t been exposed to the internet yet. I recall that this isn’t actually Joseph’s latest piece. He also rarely paints; and once he does, the paintings are actually really well-known. The internet always has info on every one of his works, except this one, it sort of bothers me, since the painting itself is very well-done. Maybe it’s just displayed for today for a special reason? I don’t really get it but I know I’m pretty lucky to be getting to see this piece. I feel like karma is crawling in since I’ve been blessed with such luck nowadays.

“You see, this painting is really special to Joseph. It’s usually not displayed around—if I think about it, it was. It’s just that no one noticed it. It’s actually my first time seeing that someone other than me actually noticed the existence of this painting, that’s quite a fun fact don’t you think, hm?”

How come has nobody other than me noticed that—?

Did the lights just go off? Wow, such things from a _well-known_ gallery. I reached the pocket of my coat to find my phone, and apparently, since I forgot to charge it, it is now left on 20%, thus I can only use it sparingly. Why did I forget to do the simplest things ever? I quickly pressed the side button, revealing my lock screen, a picture of my precious cat. My mind is now riddled with anxiety since now I am reminded of my cat’s existence. I hope I left the auto-feeder on earlier, in case I would be here for long enough. The clock also seems to be having some error, it has stopped and there’s no way for me to fix it no matter how much I restarted my phone, or play around with the settings,

“Dammit, I’ll just fix this later. For now, I only need the flashlight,”

A life-sized doll, in front of me, lays a life-sized doll, just lying there with purple butterflies surrounding it. I feel no presence around me, the gallery is dead silent. The woman (obviously) doesn’t seem to be anywhere near either. Wait, purple butterflies? Do they even really exist? If they were, I’m pretty sure they would be fairly rare. Why are there a bunch of them in here? I flinched, taking a step back as I shine the flashlight on the object. Did the woman just morph into this thing?

I can feel my heartbeat going faster as I make my way downstairs, accompanied by my phone’s flashlight. I tried to open the door, but it was to no avail. It was locked. Panic started to rush in me as I learned the fact that I am now stuck here until I find another way out. What do I do now? Do I scream and or try to break the door down or something? If I were to be realistic I can’t possibly do that—I’m not a strong person even when I have a piece of equipment in my hands I can use to break the door down. But trying won’t really hurt, yes?

**≿** **—————————-** ** ❈ ** **—————————-** **≾**

I hope this doll would work. It’s made of strong, fine wood and it’s neatly carved—it also looks strong enough to break this fancy door. And it also looks incredibly expensive. Oh, I’m sorry, doll but I have to do this. I took a step back, ready to charge myself onto the door,

“Here we go- oh, “

I sighed in relief as now that I don’t need to use my almost-dead phone anymore (and ruin the beautiful wooden doll). The light was up again. It’s not _much_ better than before, but at least there’s some light.

I glanced to the side and the woman behind the receptionist’s table was replaced by _another_ puppet of the same kind, surrounded by purple butterflies too. I decided to check the desktop; it could be left turned on, it could be unlocked, or it doesn’t even have a password set in the first place. Maybe I can get some kind of information in regards to this moment-thing—and sadly, it was to no avail, yet again. The desktop won’t turn on, despite having electricity flowing into it. This could be my karma for being so lucky these days; now I’m trapped here, in this ridiculous gallery filled with purple butterflies and creepy life-sized dolls with no food or water. Maybe I shall live here for the rest of my life, no, _eternity_, eh? This doesn’t sound so bad either (minus the lack of water and food). Living alone here with an almost-dead-phone, a bunch of butterflies—oh, maybe I can eat the butterflies. That’s a plan. Butterflies don’t sound so tasty but it’s better than nothing. Now I just need some water. I wonder where I should get them.

Ah, it seems like the time isn’t working normally, so it seems. The clock application in my phone has just vanished, and the battery drains strangely quick despite the device being new. I just bought the phone approximately three months ago, how come now it’s broken? I made a note on the phone to file a complaint and trade my phone for a new one once I got out—even if I ever get to.

I got up from my seat, putting back the discarded doll on its respectful seat. I feel bad to just discard it onto the floor, stealing its (maybe her, because the receptionist earlier was a woman) chair,

“There, I’m giving you your seat back. Now you can go back on doing your job,”

“Maybe the windows, I can check the windows next—holy crap,”

Crimson red liquid seeped through the window’s frame. It smells like iron—it must be blood. Is this becoming a horror movie? Well, that’d be quite interesting. Life here won’t be so boring after all, now I’ve got kinds of things trying to set me off. Like I said I probably will spend the rest of eternity being stuck here; eating butterflies. Maybe blood like this would be nice for a drink—no, it will taste disgusting. I can’t even imagine that. I’ll scratch that off the list then. Now if I think about it; now it clicks. The woman’s statement, “_Once you go in, there’s no going back. All your time here will be lost. Will you still jump in_?” Now I think she may be serious. But it wasn’t completely my fault. Did she expect someone to believe something as stupid as that? I didn’t recall jumping into the painting, however. I only remember her talking and suddenly the lights go off. Maybe she hypnotized me into jumping in, therefore I can’t remember a thing about jumping into a painting. But that’s not really possible too; she didn’t seem to have something she can use to hypnotize me, hm. Whatever, now I only need to find a water source before I get dehydrated. Perhaps I could check the room I was in earlier, I could possibly get back out of here from the painting somehow too if I think about it.

Green liquid (paint, perhaps, when I poked the thing, it surely felt like paint) leaked from behind the frame of the grand painting. There’s all sorts of weird things now—oh god, green letters saying “**_Come down, Aesop Carl_**,” is splattered all over the floor. This place couldn’t be weirder enough, right? What’s this? Now the paint says,

“**_come down below, aesop. i’ll show you someplace secret_**.”

I backed off from the walls, clearly dazed by the fact that a writing by someone invisible is telling me to do something. My mind could even be trying to play tricks on me right now. Maybe it is playing tricks on me the whole time! -or not, since I don't think my own mind could play out such things like this. To be fair, I didn’t visit this place to be spooked at all. I came here to be _amazed_ by Joseph’s works. I decided to comply with whoever made that writing, however. Maybe I can find a source of water, food, or, who knows? Maybe I’ll find a chance to escape.

**≿** **—————————-** ** ❈ ** **—————————-** **≾**

“Come down below, Aesop Carl. I’ll show you someplace secret. Come down below, Aesop Carl,” I found myself muttering the sentence over and over again, “But I was just downstairs earlier, where did they mean by down below?” I questioned myself as I go down the stairs leading to the first and main floor of the exhibition. I’m tired of all the questions I got time to time here—questions would usually lead to even more questions, so I stopped questioning whatever is going on here, it’s just too weird, however, it’s also hard to take it all in—who is even able to take something like this instantly? The scenario is; you went to the exhibition of one of your favorite artists, and you met some kind of person that guided you through all the exhibits at the place, then they say some weird things about being stuck and you are now really stuck in a weird version of the gallery—wherein there’s a bunch of weird purple butterflies (heck, do they even _really_ exist? They look so vibrant), big wooden doll-puppets, and things trying to scare you, like some green paint saying “Come down, (your name)” and, apparently, by they mean by _below_ is a painting on the floor. I assumed you’re—_I’_m supposed to jump in since one of the barriers is gone, and it is replaced by a trace of footsteps. The painting is titled, if I recall, “**_Abyss of the Deep_**”—though if I squint, it has a dark staircase glooming deeper downstairs—this could be what they meant by _below. _I wonder just where the flight of stairs came from. Oh wait, this place is so random so it could have been here the whole time. It’s just that I didn’t notice it the first time.

I took a peek into the depth of the painting just below my feet. The depth really gives me anxiety; I’m scared of what awaits me underneath. It could be anything; maybe even things; all sort of creatures trying to kill me.

But death isn’t really a big deal isn’t it? I can take dying here. It’s not such a bad place to die. Nobody would actually remember me; and I don’t have to worry about my presence to others, assuming this is another “universe”, different from the one I came from. The title of the painting itself; “Fabricated World” said everything you need to know about this place.

“…”

Taking in a deep breath, readying myself to step into the painting—oh, how come have I forgotten about my phone! Oh silly me, how could I forget the phone like that? I can’t possibly survive without it. I’m not a phone addict of some sort, but my phone is the best tool I have in the shed now. I can’t lose it unless I want to leave myself lying there on the ground, dead because of some kind of thing down there.

“Ah-“

** _“I wish you the best of lucks, Aesop!”_ **

**≿** **—————————-** ** ❈ ** **—————————-** **≾**

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, please drop me some critiques or something because, of course, I need to improve. Especially on how should I write Aesop. I can't do him good at all haha. And, I guess you can consider this the prologue. The "real" story begins in chapter two, and if you're here for Elisop/Aesnaib, He meets Eli at approx. chap 3 and Naib on the 4th. This story is slow, I know. The word count is low tho. Thank you for reading!
> 
> -@mayumintsu  



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